


Christmas Eve, 1945

by Phoenixflames12



Series: Outlander WW2 AU: Next Generation Oneshots [6]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 01:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflames12/pseuds/Phoenixflames12
Summary: On Jamie's first Christmas home from the war, Lallybroch is visited by carolers





	Christmas Eve, 1945

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at some point in between chapter 20 and chapter 21 of Vergangenheit

Brianna hears the carolers before she sees their shaky line winding their way up the drive, their lanterns bobbing eerily through the soft, star-lit dark.

 

She has curled herself up on the window seat in the library; the heavy moss green velvet folds of the curtains shielding her from view.

 

Bran’s head shifts under her hand, the heavy, comforting weight of coarse, brindled fur digging under her fingernails.

 

Large, yellow eyes glow back at her through the frosted windowpane, the reflection of the low oil lamps that her Mam had lit that evening glowing in their depths.

 

The Christmas tree glitters by the fireplace, the greenery shot through with the baubles and ornaments that have lived in the cardboard box that has been hidden under the stairs for as long as Brianna can remember.

 

They are baubles that she has traced the lines of with silent, reverent care as she watched her Mam cradle each of them out of their nest of newspaper and strawdust to glitter against the dark, sharp needles of the tree.

 

Baubles with memories that are as dear to her as the act of hanging her stocking alongside the fireplace beside Faith’s and William’s, watching the soft, dyed wool flicker against the leap and crackle of the fire, the fire of hope and expectation flaring deep in her heart.

 

It was an expectation that every year could only be quenched in the soft, frozen stillness of the morning as she reached into its’ depths for the soft, firm flesh of a tangerine and the glittering silver of a King’s shilling.

 

Across the passageway, the high, sweet alto voice of the solo boy chorister from Cambridge pierces the soft, comforting silence, cracking slightly against the wavering frequency of the wireless.

 

Hears the echo of the hard, hacking cough that has plagued her Da ever since he had fallen into her Mam’s arms on the station platform all those months ago.

 

She had left him sitting in the parlour beside a roaring fire, the wireless crackling through the Christmas classics; his tall, thin frame cocooned in blankets, Bran lying in a long, thick slumber at his feet.

 

_‘Mam’s in the stillroom wi’ the mulled wine and Faith and William have gone tae watch for the carolers. Will ye be all right for a bit, Da?’_

_His high, fine cheekbones had been caught in the firelight, throwing the lines of his face that had haunted her dreams for so long into the shadows._

_‘Aye, mo nighean ruaidh.’ His eyes had been soft and blue as they had held her gaze, the glimmer of what could be tears caught in their corners._

_And then the moment had been broken by an onslaught of coughing; broken, bloody hacks crashing through his lungs, shaking his chest as they had risen over the wireless, making Bran’s wake with a disgruntled ‘whuff’ and her heart twist and break afresh._

_‘Da?’_

_‘Dinna… Dinna fash a leannan…’_

_And he had groped in his shirt pocket for a handkerchief, the cotton soon soaked with phlegm and mucus, his shoulders heaving, eyes wide and pained as he had held her gaze once more._

It is a cough that she has come to hate, one that speaks of blood and pain and fear, of feelings and emotions that she wishes for his sake that he did not have to bear.

 

Just then, the back door out to the laundry green bangs open and she hears her Mam’s voice mingle with those of her siblings’ crisp against the evening air, welcoming in the carolers to the back kitchen.

 

The tart, warming scent of mulled wine infused with the preciously sharp notes of orange and cinnamon, ginger and cloves wafts through the passageway.

 

‘Brianna? Da? Brianna, where are ye?

 

Faith’s voice floats through the passageway and in a moment, her sister’s bright-eyed face that is flushed with cold peeps around the kitchen door.

 

‘I’m here, Faithie! What is it? Do they want tae see Da?’

 

Uncurling herself from the kitchen sofa and padding across the floor, Brianna finds herself smiling at the sight of her sister untangling herself out of her scarves. Their Mam has pulled the long, scrubbed table that has seen many wet afternoons making clay animals up to the door and is ladling up the steaming, softly spiced wine into old china mugs for their waiting guests.

 

William is perched up on the rim of the chipped enamel sink, deep in conversation with Kenny Lindsay, their legs swinging against the basin, only his bright, amber eyes visible from the folds of his scarf tucked up under his nose. 

 

‘Aye, they do. Where is he?’

 

‘In the parlour wi’ Bran. I…’

 

But before she can continue the warm weight of their Mam’s hand is gripping hers, steering her silently out of the kitchen towards the parlour. William is trotting next to her in an attempt to keep up, his eyes wide and shining, dancing from Mother to sisters and back again.

 

The caroler’s melody floats into the kitchen behind them, the words that she has sung so many times whilst standing for Midnight Mass in the hallowed knave of Broch Mordha’s Catholic Kirk sounding almost otherworldly.

 

‘All set, _mo chuisle?’_

Her Da’s voice is crinkled into a smile as he greets them all, pressing Faith’s mittened hands between his own as she bends to kiss him, Bran’s head resting on his knee, yellow eyes gleaming up at them all.

 

‘All ready,’ Claire murmurs, answering him with a kiss as she presses a sherry glass of mulled wine into his hand with a smile that Brianna knows she will never tire of.

 

The weight of Jamie’s knee against her back is a heavy comfort as she settles herself at his feet as the first lanterns weave their way into the parlour.

 

They come with slow, wide-eyed reverence- the faces that Brianna knows as dearly as her own family red with cold and shining as they take in the parlour. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see little Euphemia Guthrie with a knitted hat pulled firmly down over her dirty blonde plaits, tug with wide eyes at her Mam’s coat tails, pointing up at the stuffed head of the great stag who presides over the hearth.

 

The carol has changed, the familiar words of _In the Bleak Midwinter_ sending sudden shards of salt pricking at the corners of Brianna’s eyes.

 

Desperately trying to blink away her tears, she almost misses the sudden creak of the sofa as her Da rises a little unsteadily to his feet.

 

Faith’s hand is suddenly hot in hers as they watch their Da cross the carpet to join the carolers.

 

Little Euphemia has moved out of the crowd, her dark eyes wide with childlike sincerity, reaching out a mittened hand to grip Jamie’s.

 

He takes it slowly, his wide, blue eyes shining down at the lass with her trusting face and quirks a smile for her that warms Brianna’s heart.  

 

Beside them, Bran has raised his head from his paws, his ears pricked at this new development, eyes wide and watchful as a clear, soprano voice begins the next verse.

 

_What can I give him, poor that I am?_

_If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb._

_If I were a wise man, I would do my part._

_Yet what I can, I give him, give my heart._

Together, the little girl leads her laird into the carollers and Brianna feels her heart soaring at the sight of him amongst them, thankful beyond measure that she can witness the way in which his face lights up at the act of being included.

 

Leaning back against Claire’s knees, she feels her Mam bend to her, a soft, chaste kiss nestled deep in her hair.

 

Slowly, Brianna swivels round on her haunches, taking in her Mam’s amber eyes glimmering in the lamplight and reaches up to take the fine-boned, calloused hands between her own, squeezing lightly,

 

‘Thank ye, Mam,’ she murmurs quietly as they turn to watch Jamie finishing the carol, his eyes that for so long have held only a tightly reined in pain, but now are bright with joy, not needing to tell her how much she means it. 

 

* * *

 

_**Fin** _

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to read and review!
> 
> Comments, suggestions, questions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
> 
> Much love and enjoy x


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